Friday morning with the Marines

"Ain't quite like all that," Foley muttered.

Ware nudged him with his elbow. "Ain't it? C'mon fella, you tol' me alla it!"

Grattan looked at Foley with plain interest. "So how was it?"

There was no escaping the story. The Marines were watching him intently. Foley willed his cheeks to not burn so hot and cleared his throat. "Well fine, lads. But it ain't half so interestin' as Berty's makin' you think."

"Sorry," Oxley said, quietly. He hadn't meant them to put Foley on the spot like that, though he supposed it was only to be expected, and they'd have got the story out of him sooner or later. But then, he didn't know the whole story himself, either; Mister Cartwright had hinted at it, but hadn't said anything further. If he was ever going to learn the real story, this seemed like the time.

He kept his eyes down, unobtrusively working on his cross-belt.

"Tell us, then!" Vining urged.

Foley shot a quick, bracing grin toward Oxley, then began. "I were part of me uncle's fishin' crew 'fore I 'listed. Good 'nuff work but there were Navy ships in an' near the harbour all the time, it seemed. There was a couple lads took by the press right off their tug, a week 'fore I took the shillin'. Weren't worth riskin' that fate. The lads on me first ship found out I used to be a fisherman an' got me into fishin' off the foc's'le when we was off-watch."

"You was any good at fishin'?" Grattan asked, but he was hushed quickly. Foley grinned.

"Good 'nuff to put a net into the water," he answered. "I was fishin' for the lads on me second ship too. The gunner's mate caught me at it one evenin' though, 'cause I had me line out one of the gun ports. He wanted me catch, I tol' him to shift off, an' it got to be a scrap." He shrugged. "Gave him a good kickin', then Mister Cartwright an' the middie of the watch show up. The gunner's mate near to got thrown out that gun port - I ain't seen the like since, lads. The 'Tenant were fair hoppin' mad."

Oxley hadn't heard that, of course, and Mister Cartwright hadn't even hinted at it, not really. He wondered who it was who'd nearly thrown the gunner's mate out of the gunport - Foley, or Mister Cartwright himself?

"So... so why'd he make you his steward then, Mikey?" he asked, feeling a little shy, looking up from his work.

Foley thought for a moment, then decided to answer that question honestly. "I ain't the best Marine ever," he admitted. "Got a few strokes from the cat once or twice. Me last officer swore he'd see me drummed out, an' I s'pose I were close to that when me an' the gunner's mate got into it. Dunno what possessed Mister Cartwright to take me on, neither. He din't say much 'bout it directly. Jus' said 'You're takin' Giles' duties, meet him in the wardroom at four bells.' An' that was it."

"You get on all right with him, though, don't you? I mean, you seem like a good sort of steward. Mister Brandeson's steward, he seemed to keep the 'Tenant lushed all the time so's he could hardly walk. Well, the 'Tenant wanted the drink an' I think it was his steward as give it him."

He shrugged. Brandeson was ancient history as far as Terpsy's Marines were concerned. They were more worried about their new officer, and the strange ideas he had for running things.

"Aye, I do. He's a fair sort. But he's terrible with lookin' after himself right sometimes. Almost like a schoolboy." Foley shook his head. "I din't know yer last officer or his steward, but I'd be bold an' say the steward must not've been much, if he kept his officer in the bottle. Plain disgraceful, that."

"Was worse if he didn't. Nobody got any peace if he didn't get his brandy," Vining said, leaning back against the ship's side and staring at the sails above them.

Foley looked dubious. "Steward's job ain't to keep his officer half-drownt in brandy."

"Nobody told Mister Brandeson that," Grattan put in, looking up from polishing his cross-belt plate. "Dunno 'bout the rest of you, but I'd say we've got ourselves a decent officer now, even if he does have some strange ideas about punishment details and such-like." He glanced pointedly at Oxley, who opened his mouth, closed it, and stared at the piece of leather in his lap.

"Shou'n't have to," Foley said, then he shrugged. It didn't matter.

There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the loosely-gathered Marines. Ware said, "That's the truth, sure. I'll take strange ideas over nothin' t'all!"

"So what's he like in a fight, then?" McEwen wanted to know, looking up from his carving.

Oxley decided that he was staying out of the debate now. He could only make things worse by saying something unnecessarily, and he didn't know how the Lieutenant was in a fight, did he?

The steward grinned knowingly. "Proper lethal in a fight. We got into a scrap with a Frog ship, tryin' to cut her out, an' it was a right wild time. I din't see him for most'a it, after it started, but ho! He ain't no bad hand at swingin' a sword, I'll tell you!"

It seemed they really had got themselves a proper officer, then. Oxley grinned at the picture.

"So he ain't one of them shy sort. Oh, that'll be good in a battle. Nice to have someone you can follow, who knows what he's doin'." There were murmurs of agreement with Grattan's statement.

"He is that," Foley agreed. "Ain't hard to follow him t'all."

"He sounds like a real good sort of officer," Thompson said, carefully unrolling his sewing. "Wonder how long them three are goin' to take holystonin' the messdeck? And what do you lot think - are they goin' to end up scrappin' again?"

Ware brushed some dirt off his crossbelt and chuckled. "It ain't gonna take Branning long, but Shriver'll drag his knuckles all day. Ain't seen a worse one fer sulkin', that one."

"Dunno 'bout them scrappin' 'gin neither," Vining added. "Not with Corp'ral down there too!"

"That's true," Thompson said. He hadn't seen the Corporal come back on deck, and it only made sense that he'd stayed below to supervise.

"Wouldn't want to be on any sort of work detail with Shriver," he said. "He slows things down more'n any man I know! Even with the Corp'ral watchin'."

"Too bloody true," Mallory said feelingly. "It's a disgrace when he's mess cook."

"You'd think he'd get back with the food first 'stead of last," Beech said, agreeing. "There ain't bin a lazier sod in the Corps since it was formed, I swear."

"If he ever cooked summat that was worth eatin', mebbe he would be first," Joyse grumbled. "Lazy and stupit, that's Shriver."

"He ain't worth the space he takes up," McEwen said. "Really, he ain't. Never known anythin' like it before."

"I ain't surprised he finally got in a fight. I only wish Brannin' had bin able to knock him a bit harder afore the 'Tenant come round. How'd he get for'rard anyhow? Last I saw, he went in the wardroom," Dickin said, looking round at the assembled Marines.

That was something Foley had been wondering about himself. "He was in the wardroom," the steward said. "He usually does his letter-writin' 'round this time. Dunno why he was up an' around, or how he got up forrard with nobody seein', though."

"Unless we all missed him go for'rard. Mebbe... mebbe he slipped past us when Everett was gettin' pulled around and he just spoke up when he was on the other side of our messdeck?" Oxley said. He'd been thinking about it, but couldn't work out why he hadn't said anything at first, if that's how he'd done it.

They were looking at Foley, as if expecting him to confirm that as the surest explanation. He shrugged fractionally. "That's prolly how he done it," he said. It was the only thing that made sense, anyway.

"Then why din't he stop it 'fore they started into it?" Grattan asked.

Foley didn't have an answer for that.